


The Other Side of a Mirror

by nagi_schwarz



Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Night of the Solstice - L. J. Smith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:02:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: On the night of the summer solstice, Rodney, Jeannie, and Laura followed John the fox through a mirror to Atlantis. What happened that night haunts them.





	The Other Side of a Mirror

During the light of day, Rodney, Jeannie, and Laura didn’t talk about what had happened that night in Midsummer, on the solstice. They went about their days - Laura with the cute popular girls on the dance team, Rodney in orchestra, Jeannie one of the Mathletes - like everything was normal, like their lives hadn’t been turned upside down in the blink of an eye.

Sometimes Rodney couldn’t help but think about it, though. Memories struck him out of nowhere. He’d glimpse his reflection in a mirror, and he was back in that old house, standing in front of that dusty full-length mirror, gazing into another world. He’d see a flash of black out of the corner of his eye and spin, hoping to see a sleek black fox. He’d smell the musk of sandalwood and close his eyes and be back in a warm embrace.

Jeannie kicked him in the ankle. “Stop doing that.”

He sat with her in the cafeteria, because she was his sister and he was supposed to look after her now that she was in high school. Also now he had someone to sit next to, besides Laura - who only sat with him when the dance team wasn’t available for some strange reason - and he didn’t want to lose that.

“Doing what?” Rodney asked.

“Going - there,” Jeannie said.

Rodney resisted the urge to remind her that they’d gone there in the first place because of her, because despite her potential to become a brilliant scientist she still believed in magic. 

Unfortunately for Rodney and Laura, she was right: magic was real. 

Rodney was pretty sure Laura still had that fae kiss on her cheek, that it still affected her even though no one could see it.

Rodney said, too softly for even Jeannie to hear, “I’d rather be there than here.”

*

“Jeannie, get away from that, it probably has rabies,” Rodney said.

Jeannie was sitting cross-legged in the tall, wild grass at the southern edge of the estate, looking at a sleek black fox. “He doesn’t have rabies. His name is John.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, hello, John the fox. That’s a terrible name for a fox. Now - stand up and dust yourself off. You’ll catch some hideous disease from that mangy beast.”

“He’s not mangy,” Jeannie protested. She made no move to stand up. “And he’s not a beast.”

“He’s an animal. Whatever tired metaphors and cliches there are about foxes, they’re pointless, because foxes are only barely smarter than dogs. Also they’re wild and unpredictable, so get over here before he bites you. Also, where’s Laura? I thought she was with you.” Rodney beckoned sharply.

“Laura’s exploring the house,” Jeannie said. “And he’s not going to bite me. He knows I’m friendly. He might bite you, though.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re being a jerk right now.  _ Meredith.” _

“You made fun of my name being  _ John _ and your name is  _ Meredith?”  _ the fox asked.

“I prefer to go by Rodney,” he snapped, and then he realized. The fox had  _ spoken to him. _

He stared.

Jeannie smirked. “See? I told you he was smart.”

*

PE was the worst class ever. Rodney knew a fit body meant a fit mind, and he had the advantage of being lean and kind of rangy, but he didn’t enjoy physical exertion the way some people did, so whenever he had a chance, he took a break. His pale complexion rarely served him in PE, especially when they were doing sports outside, but because he flushed easily it was easy to convince Coach Heppler that he was overheating and needed a break.

So Rodney stood in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face and trying to cool down, trying to ground himself back in the here and now with every shock of cold water on his skin.

He paused, scrubbed water out of his eyes with the back of his wrist, and blinked a few times.

After a moment his blurry vision resolved itself - and he saw his own reflection, water through the moisture on his eyelashes.

And he was gone again.

*

Laura stood in front of the full-length mirror, gazing at her own dusty reflection. It had an ornate wooden frame, clawed feet and scrolls and some kind of brass pommel at the top.

“I told you,” Rodney said for perhaps the thousandth time that day, “we’re not supposed to be in here.”

They’d been given strict instructions not to enter the old house on the other side of the fence because, according to Grandma McKay, the thing was condemned. But Jeannie had apparently been intrigued by John the black fox and Laura had never much been one for following rules anyway, and here they were.

Laura was pretty, red-blonde hair, violet eyes, a narrow straight nose, high cheekbones, bright smile. A tap dancer since childhood, now she was on the school dance team. Girls like her didn’t give Rodney the time of day, but Jeannie had always wanted to be a ballerina, and she and Laura had taken some dance classes together when they were little kids and, against all odds, were still kind of friends.

Grandma Cadman and Grandma McKay were bridge partners, so Rodney, Jeannie, and Laura were spending the summer together.

John the talking fox sat at Jeannie’s feet, his tail curled primly around his hips, but Rodney was pretty sure he was smirking. He’d done this on purpose. Lured Jeannie here with his sleek pretty coat and soft fluffy ears, fed Laura’s curiosity about the dusty old house.

“Well, we’re here,” Laura said. “And this place is hardly condemnable. It’s actually really awesome. Good wooden floors.” She bounced experimentally. “One of these empty rooms would make a great dancing space. What do you say, Jeannie? We could even use this mirror. Are there other mirrors in the house we could use?”

“Lots,” John said.

Laura had accepted John the talking fox with far too much aplomb.

“This is the only full-sized one.”

Rodney eyed the curved frame of the mirror. “The symbols carved into the frame. What are they?”

“That’s the language of the Ancient Ones,” John said.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a science fiction movie.”

“Nope - just a fantasy,” John drawled, all amusement, and once again Rodney was struck with the bizarre reality of his situation: he was talking to a fox.

“We can dance later,” Jeannie said. “John has something important for us, right?” She reached down and scratched behind one of his ears.

John made a happy little yipping sound, leaning into her touch, his eyes drifting closed. His fur looked very soft.

“What important thing?” Laura asked.

John opened his eyes, reluctantly drew away from Jeannie’s touch. “Today is the summer solstice,” he said. “The longest day and shortest night of the year. When night falls, this mirror becomes a portal to another world. That portal will stay open for the entire night, so anyone can cross back and forth.”

“What other world?” Jeannie asked, wide-eyed.

John said, “It has many names. The Glass Isle. Avalon. Atlantis.”

“What’s it like?” Laura asked.

John said, wistfully, “It’s beautiful.”

*

Rodney and Jeannie walked home together. Even though their parents had two cars and only Dad worked, Dad insisted a little extra exercise wouldn’t hurt them, that school wasn’t that far, so walking it was.

Rodney was grateful that, unlike other students in orchestra, he didn’t have to carry his instrument back and forth to practice. The school had a beautiful baby grand piano in the band room. Rodney’s parents had grudgingly purchased an old upright piano once Rodney started showing some aptitude and discipline on Grandma McKay’s baby grand. Rodney had devoured whole books on pianos so he could fix it up himself, keep it tuned and polished and clean.

Jeannie was chattering about her day - there was a new, cute boy named Kaleb in her English class; she was learning a new dance in PE - and Rodney was making sure he stayed on the outside of Jeannie when they turned corners, that he was watching for traffic and keeping her safe. He was also pondering over the new piano piece he’d been assigned for jazz band, from a modern Japanese composer. It had tricky timing. He tapped his fingers against his thigh as he walked, trying to find the timing against the metronome in his head.

The three-mile walk passed peaceably. Only a few cars honked at Rodney and Jeannie. One of them was Mrs. Zelenka, Rodney’s lab partner’s mother, and she smiled and waved. 

They trudged up the walk to the front door, and for a moment Rodney missed the dog he and Jeannie had had back in Toronto. Sure, the thing had been needy and unpredictable and a lot of work, but little Fido had always come running to greet him. 

Till the day he’d gone.

When Rodney moved out, he was getting a cat. Mom was allergic to cats, but they were the superior pet, self-sufficient and dependable.

Rodney unlocked the front door - Mom kept it locked even when she was home - and stepped through it.

And was in another world.

*

Stepping through the mirror portal was - indescribable. It was like stepping under a waterfall and like spinning on one of those carnival gravity rides and like taking one step too many at the top of a flight of stairs and -

“We haven’t gone anywhere.” Rodney came up short.

He, Jeannie, and Laura were standing in the exact same room as before. Dusty wooden floor, heavily paneled walls, furniture covered in dusty white sheets, windows shut fast and shuttered over.

Instead of flickering overhead bulbs there were sconces on the walls lit with a soft, golden glow, flickering like flames instead of malfunctioning bulbs.

“No,” Jeannie said. “We’re not in the same place.”

It was Laura who went to the door, grasped the ornate brass doorknob, turned it.

“Wait,” Rodney began, but Laura pulled the door open.

Instead of the bare wooden landing, there was a long shadowed hallway. Instead of wooden floors and paneled walls, it was made of reddish stone floor and a gray-red stone-like substance for the walls.

“We’re definitely somewhere new,” Laura said.

Icy fear prickled through Rodney’s veins. “I don’t like this. I want to go back.” He turned and started for the mirror - but it was gone. There had never been a mirror in this room at all.

A girl said, “Welcome to Atlantis.”

*

Even after orchestra rehearsals, Rodney practiced the piano for half an hour each day, doing his scales and arpeggios to keep his hands quick and flexible. While Jeannie did her homework, he practiced. After, he did his homework, and they had supper, and only after supper was he allowed to escape to the privacy of his room. Like his parents couldn’t trust him to get his homework done. The only reason he, Jeannie, and Laura were all in the same grade was because Mom had refused to allow him to skip grades even though he was usually bored out of his mind at school and his teachers had arranged for him to take correspondence courses from the local university so something was a challenge. Rodney was both bitter and grateful that Mom had seen reason and let Jeannie skip.

Jeannie was a Mathlete champion, and Rodney was proud of her. The entire school was proud of her. 

Rodney couldn’t help but be jealous of that.

Jeannie was good at math. Rodney was good at math in another way. He was good at music, understood the numbers behind each piece he played, each note and melody and harmony.

He kept his favorite songs in a journal, where he annotated them closely, about chordality and originality and the subtleties other mundane listeners missed.

He wrote songs of his own, too. Had chord progressions and melodies, riffs and harmonies mapped out as best as he could, even the occasional snatch of lyrics.

There was one song he’d never be able to write, never be able to -

No. Here and now. Focus on the here and now.

Rodney took a deep breath, opened his music binder from school, then reached for his journal. He liked this new piece. Piano Black, it was called. He’d need to deconstruct it thoroughly if he wanted any hope of playing it right.

He opened his music journal. It fell open to his bookmark, a length of black velvet ribbon.

Rodney smoothed a thumb over its softness and remembered unfastening it from around John’s throat with shaking hands. It still had the little silver fox pendant on it, the one with the moss agate eyes.

John had green eyes.

*

“Where’s the mirror? How the hell do we get back home?” Rodney demanded.

“John will help us,” Jeannie said.

“Then where the hell is John?” Rodney snapped.

The sleek black fox appeared mid-leap out of nowhere, landed on the floor on all four paws. Shook himself out.

Rodney started to say, “It’s about damn time,” only the fox started to dissipate, dissolve into black smoke.

Jeannie let out a soft cry of alarm. Laura was beside her in an instant, stepping in front of her to protect her.

From black smoke that swirled and grew, spiraling upward, like a living shadow with a pair of green eyes.

Rodney jumped in front of Laura. Fit dancer she may have been - Rodney was still broader and stronger.

The smoke coalesced - into a boy. A boy about the same age as Rodney, with spiky dark hair, elfin ears, and a sexy, familiar little smirk. He was shirtless, all pale skin, and wore a pair of loose black trousers. He was barefoot.

And he was wearing a black choker collar thing, a black velvet ribbon with a silver pendant on it, of a fox with green semi-precious stones for eyes.

The boy had green eyes.

He was beautiful.

Jeannie asked, “John?”

He nodded. “I can’t wear my true form in your world. Come on - we have to go.”

“You’re a - a  _ boy? _ A fox-boy?” Rodney asked.

“Just a boy,” John said, “who sometimes looks like a fox.” He looked amused.

“Where are we going?” Laura asked. “What’s the plan?”

“The Morgana, True Queen of Atlantis, has been imprisoned by The Merlin,” John said. “We have to set her free.”

Jeannie nodded. “Okay.”

Laura nodded as well.

Rodney held up his hands. “Wait just one minute. I remember reading Arthurian legends. Pretty sure Morgan Le Fay or whatever was the villain.”

“You can’t believe everything you read,” John said.

“Why should I believe you?” Rodney asked.

“Because,” John said, “fae cannot lie.”

*

Perhaps the only reason Rodney and Laura’s association wasn’t completely against the grain of the unspoken social code at school was that Rodney’s piano skills were useful for dancers. He played piano, and the dancers could practice their routines.

He and Laura were in the dance studio, Laura at the barre stretching out while Rodney studied her performance song and pressed a few keys idly. The song she’d chosen wasn’t what a lot of the dance team would have selected for a solo number. They tended to favor high-energy techno remixes of either Top 40 songs or a bunch of songs mashed up. 

That Laura wanted something from the tragic finale of Swan Lake was - well.

Laura was a rebel in her own right.

Rodney studied her reflection out of the corner of his eye and kept plinking away at the keys, idly testing notes and chords and combinations. Figuring out a melody was like solving a partial differential equation, a balance of getting the steps in order and getting the numbers right. One wrong step was one sour note. One wrong number was a broken chord.

Rodney could hear the melody in his head, but every time he tried to translate it into piano keys -

No. He’d never be able to recreate that melody, because there was nothing like it in this world.

*

“If we don’t get out of this hallway and rescue The Morgana, her cell will seal forever, turn into a tomb,” John said. He was hovering just over Rodney’s shoulder, practically quivering with tension.

“Yes, your mission is urgent, you’ve conveyed that to us multiple times,” Rodney said. “Repeating it isn’t going to help me solve this problem faster.”

Atlantis was beautiful, glass and stone, crystal and marble, silver and gold and other substances for which John had no name in the human language. Atlantis was just as perilous as it was beautiful. The Merlin had designed a series of obstacles to prevent anyone from ever freeing The Morgana. If this was only the first one, Rodney didn’t much fancy their chances of freeing her, because as soon as they’d set foot in this strange hallway, it had sealed off.

They were trapped - the four of them plus the girl Teyla, who’d welcomed them - and if they didn’t get out, The Morgana was going to die and they were all going to starve to death.

Or go insane first, because that stupid music  _ would not stop. _

Rodney growled and spun away from the blank section of wall that Teyla insisted was the door.

“Would someone make that damn music go away?”

“What music?” Laura asked.

Rodney gestured vaguely. “Can’t you hear it? It’s not on the twelve-semitone scale we usually use. But I can’t - argh! Why won’t it stop? Where’s it coming from?”

“I don’t know,” Jeannie said in a small voice.

Rodney spun on Teyla. “You - are you doing this? What are you?”

“Like John, I am one of The Morgana’s knights,” she said, drawing herself up. Though she was shorter than Rodney by a good four inches, slender and curvy, her bare arms were muscular. Her tone was always calm and even, but she was - strong. Fierce.

Rodney slewed a glance at John. “You’re a knight? But you don’t have any armor or weapons or -” Did turning into a fox count as some kind of weapon?

“John is the chief among all The Morgana’s knights,” Teyla said.

“Where are your weapons and armor?” Rodney asked. “Can you break down the door?”

“We have already tried,” Teyla said. She and John had tried, kicking and punching and shoving at the wall, but to no avail. 

Rodney turned back to John. “Are you just a fox-boy or can you turn into other things? Something small and flexible that can fit through gaps, like a mouse or - or a cockroach.”

John raised his eyebrows. “A cockroach? No. My only other form is a fox.”

Rodney turned back to Teyla. “What about you?”

“I cannot change shape. I am a siren.”

Rodney eyed her. “A siren. So - what. You sing and people hear your voice and want to die?”

“Not quite.” Teyla’s brow furrowed. “What tales are told of sirens in your world?”

And suddenly it all made sense. The constant, insistent melody in the background. “Can you hear that music, Teyla?” Rodney asked.

She shook her head.

“No one hears the music, Rodney,” Laura said with exaggerated patience.

“I think I know how to get through the door. The answer’s been here all along,” Rodney said.

“How?” Jeannie asked.

“Teyla, I need you to sing this song.” And Rodney started to hum the melody he was hearing. It was hard to get it at first, because it wasn’t on a scale he was used to, but after several iterations, he was pretty sure he was carrying the tune right.

“I still don’t hear it,” John said. 

“Teyla, please,” Rodney said.

She hummed the melody with him for several iterations, and then she sang, and -

The world stopped.

There was no quest, no mission, no traps, no allies or enemies. There was only Teyla’s voice. Only her music.

And then Rodney remembered. “Laura, John, go, push at the door as hard as you can!”

Laura was dazed. John grabbed her shoulders, shook her, and she blinked, shook her head as if to clear it. The two of them braced their shoulders against the wall, pushed - and vanished.

Jeannie yelped.

Teyla faltered.

“Keep singing,” Rodney insisted.

“What happened?” Jeannie asked.

“Controlled magnetic harmonic resonance. Tesla was working on it before Edison trashed his lab.” Rodney grabbed Jeannie’s hand and led her over to the wall. “Keep singing, Teyla.”

She nodded.

Rodney said to Jeannie, “Let’s go.”

*

The best performances were in the moment. Rodney couldn’t fret on past practices or performances gone wrong. He couldn’t worry about what was to come. He had to take each note, each chord, each phrase as it came, give it the attention it deserved before he moved on. He couldn’t rush notes or drag them. The song had to just - be.

For all that Laura was on the drill team, which was modern dance (and, let’s be real, less dance and more marching and a series of creative sex poses), her passion was tap. She and Rodney were a team, making the music together, making the song together. She was the percussion, the rhythm. Rodney was the harmony, the melody. Laura’s choreography was the lyrics.

Rodney was wearing a dark suit, keeping his head down. Even though he and Laura were performing this together, he was under no illusion that she was anything but the star. He was the accompaniment. She was Diana. He was the Supremes. 

Rodney was in the moment, in the song, a C to a D to a G, back down to an A, a quick overhand trill, a slow crescendo to a sharp staccato fortissimo. He and Laura were one, melody and rhythm. She was spinning across the dance floor, hands high above her head, arms graceful arcs.

She paused, posed, turned her head.

Glitter shimmered on her cheekbone.

Rodney lost the moment.

Because he knew no one could see what her face really looked like. He couldn’t see what it really looked like either, could only guess at the blush of blue-silver scales across her skin where she’d been kissed by that fae.

*

Of course the second task belonged to Laura, Laura who could run forever and dance even longer, who was brave with her body in a way Rodney and Jeannie had never dared to be.

“We’re not allowed to help you, lass.” Carson stood at the edge of the precipice. 

The Morgana’s prison cell was a giant filigree cage suspended in midair.

Laura frowned. “But Teyla -”

“I sang a song when Rodney asked me,” Teyla said quickly. “No more.”

Jeannie said, “John -”

“Showed you how to use the solstice gates.”

Rodney remembered how John said fae could not lie. Apparently they could bend the truth quite creatively. He frowned. “What kind of a faery name is  _ Carson, _ anyway?”

Carson arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you an expert on the Fair Folk?”

“Teyla - that sounds mystical and magical. John is - just boring. But kind of ironic for a fox, I guess. Carson is...wrong. That’s your doctor’s name, not a faery’s name.” Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. He was stalling.

“John’s not a fox, he’s a pookah whose animal form is a fox,” Carson said patiently.

Laura took a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to help me free The Morgana,” she said. “I’m just asking you to show me the way across the Chasm. A way that me and my friends can manage.”

“I will show you and your friends a way across the Chasm,” Carson said.

Laura smiled.

Carson said, “For a price.”

“What price?” Laura asked.

Carson pulled her into his arms and said, “Dance with me.”

Tension practically crackled in the air between them. It was Teyla who raised a song with her voice, John who scooped up an empty flower pot and used it as a drum to make a beat.

Jeannie grabbed Rodney’s hand, held tight to keep the two of them grounded against the thrall that Teyla’s voice could pull them into. She nearly screamed when Carson waltzed Laura right off the edge of the precipice.

And onto thin air, which lit beneath their feet, shimmering like moonlight on the sea. There was a bridge across the chasm, but it was invisible.

“Don’t look down,” Carson said to Laura, gaze locked with hers. “Look at me.”

He had incredibly blue eyes.

They reached the center of the Chasm, stepped onto the platform below the giant filigree cage that was The Morgana’s prison cell.

“Is the price paid?” Laura asked.

“Almost,” Carson said, leaned in, and kissed her.

Shining scales blossomed on her cheek where his lips had touched her skin. Rodney saw her gaze go distant.

He turned to John and Teyla, who’d fallen silent.

“What just happened?” he asked.

John, looking grim, said, “She’s been marked forever. She’s his.”

“What does that mean?” Rodney asked.

He found out the first night after they got back to their own realm, when the sun set and Laura started screaming, trying to claw her way through the mirror because she wanted to go back,  _ needed _ to go back, had to see him, touch him.

Rodney and Jeannie had to pin her down, hold her tight, because they couldn’t go back, none of them could, and with time the longing and the mark should fade, right?

Only whenever Laura looked at herself in that mirror, she alone could see the mark, and she said it was spreading.

*

Running was awful. Running in PE was the worst, because Coach Heppler had no compunctions about shouting at them, calling them  _ ladies _ and singling out the ones he thought were slow, weak, clumsy. Rodney was by no means the slowest of the pack, but he wasn’t a particularly skilled runner either.

Rodney could run, and he could talk, but he couldn’t do both at the same time.

He despised the boys who could do both at the same time, because they wasted their breath parroting their coach’s insults. Inevitably they all resorted to making fun of Rodney about his name.

When Rodney’s body could take no more, he slowed to a walk, trying to take deep breaths to stave off the burning stitch that was building in his side.

“What’s wrong, Meredith?” one of the other boys taunted.

(Rodney didn’t know their names, didn’t bother to learn the names of people who weren’t worth remembering.)

“Can’t run?”

“Sometimes,” Rodney said, “walking is the better part of valor.”

*

“What’s that sound?” 

It was rolling thunder. It was a timpani crescendo. It was -

“It is the Wild Hunt.” Teyla grabbed Jeannie’s wrist and swept her aside, off the grassy path.

“What does that mean?” Rodney asked.

“It means walk, don’t run, because you’re being hunted,” John said.

“That sounds really backwards to me.” Rodney craned his neck and peered through the shadows, because John had tugged him off the path as well.

That thundering sound was hooves. Rodney cried out and recoiled sharply as a massive stag sped toward him. It was giant, its branching antlers white, its eyes frightening red and bright like flames. Its rider was a boy about the same age as everyone else present - was everyone in the fae world eternally sixteen? - only he looked fierce, was wearing strange black leather armor, was carrying a massive spear. He was clearly a warrior.

John and his cohorts were Knights of the Morgana, but none of them looked like knights, wholly without weapons and armor. The riders in the Wild Hunt - they looked like knights. They wore a motley assortment of armor, everything from medieval plate armor to lacquered wood samurai armor to the leather kilts and breastplates of Roman legionnaires to the plumed helmets of the Spartans to the spiked turbans of the Ottomans. Their steeds were as varied as their armor and weapons: stags and goats, bulls and camels, lions and tigers and zebras and something that Rodney suspected was a unicorn.

They streamed past, shouting and hollering and whooping, weapons and armor flashing in the moonlight.

But the stag lingered behind, and its rider, the beautiful dark-skinned, one-eyed boy with the fierce grin, was looking right at Rodney and twirling his spear.

“What are they hunting for? In the Wild Hunt,” Rodney asked.

Carson said, “Souls.”

“Why are we not running?” Rodney turned to him, wide-eyed.

It was Teyla who said, “Sometimes, walking is the better part of valor.”

“Again, why?” Rodney couldn’t help but squeeze John’s hand.

John squeezed him back. “Don’t move,” he said. “If you run, they’ll know you’re afraid.”

“I  _ am _ afraid.”

“Rodney,” Laura said, “it’s like with angry dogs. You’re not supposed to run from them.”

John flung his around arm Jeannie’s shoulders. 

“Hold on!” he shouted.

The Wild Rider spun his spear so it whistled through the air. Then he leveled it at Rodney and John, and he charged.

Teyla leaped in front of them. “Aiden, no!”

*

Rodney always sat front and center for Jeannie’s Mathlete competitions even though people usually avoided sitting with him and sitting alone was awkward. Mom never came to Jeannie’s competitions. Dad usually came straight from work, slid into the back late. Rodney knew how important morale was when it came to performing under pressure, and it was better for Jeannie if she knew he was there from the first moment.

Rodney made sure to sit up straight, pay attention, keep as neutral an expression as possible, resist the urge to fidget or otherwise mouth the answers, but to smile whenever Jeannie made eye contact with him.

Most of the time she didn’t, golden head bowed as she scratched away at a notepad with her pencil. Paper and pencil were limiting. She was so much faster with just her own mind, but they had to show their work.

Because sometimes they were smarter than the competition staff, and if staff had the wrong answer and the student had the right one, well, proper work was the proof.

Every time Jeannie was the one who looked up first, slammed on the buzzer with one hand, pencil hoisted high in the air, Rodney was fiercely proud.

“McKay,” the MC said, pointing to her.

She rattled off the solution, fluent and calm, while the official scribe wrote out the equation and then the answer.

The MC checked his answer card. “Correct. Five points to Cheyenne Mountain High School.”

Jeannie caught Rodney’s gaze, grinned fiercely.

She was right. She was always right. For her, math wasn’t a question of calculation or skill, quick mental arithmetic. Numbers and formulas were  _ art. _

When Jeannie spoke math, others heard numbers and constants and operators.

Rodney knew when she spoke math, she was singing colors and unlocking the universe.

*

The boy guarding the door to The Morgana’s cell was just as beautiful as John and Teyla and Carson. He looked most like Carson, dark-haired and blue-eyed, with a dimpled smile.

“Are you two brothers?” Rodney asked.

“No,” the boy said, “though if I were a relation of Carson’s I wouldn’t disclaim him.”

“I want to open that cell,” Jeannie said.

The boy was sitting cross-legged in front of the filigree door, a sketchpad across his knees, wielding pencils with calm competence. “Your wants are your own.”

“Are you a fae?” Jeannie asked.

The boy nodded. 

“Are you one of The Morgana’s knights?”

He nodded again.

“If you are, why are you helping The Merlin keep her captive?”

He avoided her gaze, kept on sketching.

Beside Rodney, John shifted from foot to foot. Teyla and Carson both looked sad. Of course their inability to directly assist Rodney, Laura, and Jeannie with saving The Morgana was imposed by The Merlin.

“You’re going to show me how to unlock that door,” Jeannie said.

Laura nudged her.

“You will do as I say,” Jeannie added.

“For a price,” the boy said.

Laura nudged Jeannie again.

Jeannie said, “I do not deal in faery trades.”

“Are you asking for a favor?” The boy raised his eyebrows.

Jeannie said, “If you do as I say, I will carry a message to your family back in the human world.”

The boy’s eyes went wide.

John inhaled sharply.

Carson stared at her. “How did you -?”

“Rodney’s not the only one who’s read the legends,” Jeannie said.

The boy climbed slowly to his feet.

Jeannie stepped toward him. “What’s your name? Your full name.”

Rodney let out a small sound of protest when the boy stepped closer to Jeannie, leaned in, whispered in her ear. She listened intently, nodded.

“All right, Evan. I’m going to take a good look at this door, and then - then I’ll issue my commands.”

“What was the point of that?” Laura asked. “Why did he whisper his name if you were just going to say it out loud?”

But Jeannie was shouldering past Evan, studying the filigree patterns in the door, running her hands over the silver lines, poking the negative spaces, her expression contemplative.

“He gave her his true name,” Carson said faintly.

“True names,” Teyla explained, “are power. If you know someone’s true name, they are bound to obey your commands.”

Rodney sneaked a glance at John. John knew all three of his names. What would John do with that knowledge? Why hadn’t he done anything with it till now?

“These shapes are repeating,” Jeannie said. “None of the polygons has more than nine sides.”

“A circle has infinite sides,” Rodney pointed out.

Jeannie made a low humming noise. “For the purposes of this exercise, a circle counts as a shape with one side, because I’m pretty sure the semicircles and crescent moons and hearts are being used as shapes with two sides.”

“Why does that matter?” Rodney asked.

“Because,” Jeannie said, “I’m pretty sure these shapes aren’t just shapes. They’re numbers.”

“How are numbers helpful?” Rodney gestured to the shimmering lock at the center of the silver filigree door. “This is a combination lock but the combination options aren’t numerical - they’re colors. Lots and lots of colors.”

Jeannie’s eyes went wide. “But Mer - colors  _ are _ numbers.” She pressed closer to the door, and Rodney recognized that look on her face, had seen it during her Mathlete competitions a thousand times. She was working something out.

“Every single color in the visible spectrum has at least three numerical representations - wavelength, frequency, and photon energy.” She traced her fingers over the shapes, her mouth moving soundlessly.

Then she said, “Evan, show me which color is 465 nanometers.”

Evan reached into his pencil box, produced a stick of pigment.

Jeannie spun the first dial on the lock to a shade of blue that matched Evan’s pigment stick. Then she returned to studying the numbers patterned into the door.

“Evan, show me which color is 580 terahertz.”

Evan produced another stick of pigment, this one green.

Jeannie spun the second dial on the lock.

Rodney stared at Evan. “How do you know the conversion between wavelengths and frequencies and actual colors?”

John said, “Magic is just science you don’t understand yet.”

Evan smiled, dimpled and sweet and just a little bit frightening.

“Evan, show me which color is 2.99 electron volts.”

Evan held up a violet stick of pigment.

Jeannie spun the third dial.

There was a soft whirring sound, and then a click, and then the door slowly swung open toward them.

Rodney said, “That was too easy.”

A voice said, all around them, “Yes, it was.”

*

Cheyenne Mountain High School won the Mathlete tournament - no surprise there - and Jeannie wanted to go out, celebrate with her team, so Rodney was walking home. Alone. In the rain. Laura would have cracked a Hemingway joke. For all that she acted like she was a dance bimbo and nothing more, she was incredibly bright, and she was acing AP English like no one’s business.

She’d smiled at Rodney after the tournament ended, filing out of the gym with some students from her AP English class. She’d come to support Jeannie. That was kind of her.

If she was caught smiling at Rodney, well, that would be social suicide, even if people knew that their grandmothers were friends. 

He’d smiled back at her, and for a moment her smile brightened, but then she pressed a hand to her cheek, where the faery kiss was that no one could see, and her smile vanished, her expression hollow, and she hurried away.

It was fitting, then, that Rodney was walking home alone in the rain. It hadn’t been his fault that they’d gone through the mirror that night, but he’d been stupidly brave - more stupid than brave - and agreed to help John free The Morgana. Because he’d been intoxicated by John’s beauty, the fierce intelligence in his bright green eyes.

Thunder boomed overhead, and Rodney flinched automatically, even though he hadn’t even seen any lightning and it wasn’t like he had somewhere he could run for cover. He wasn’t carrying an umbrella.

But the skies opened and water poured down, and -

*

“This is it.” Ronon, another of The Morgana’s knights, was some kind of merman who was massive and muscular and covered in blue geometric tattoos that looked like armor and became actual scales somewhere around his hips. He said little but was strong, moved fast. 

He’d met them at the river’s edge, accepted them onto his boat, and steered them upriver to, John said, the way home.

_ This is it, _ Ronon had said.

After who knew how long - hours, days; time ran differently in Atlantis - they were almost home.

Time was running out, John said. How did he know that? That ticking and tocking Rodney and the others had heard, intermittently. That was time passing back in their own realm. The interdimensional clock sounded slow at first, but each time Rodney heard it - at random intervals - it was going faster and faster. The last time he’d heard it, it was racing like a tell-tale heart.

They were almost out of time. So they had to get back to the portal as soon as possible.

“What’s it?” Rodney asked.

Ronon steered the boat through a green tunnel - low-hanging, close-growing tree boughs - and into another, darker tunnel.

An actual tunnel. They were under a hill or mountain or something. 

Teyla, Evan, and Carson had remained on the river bank, promising to hold off anyone who tried to chase them. Jeannie, who would have piped up with trivia about how fae were sometimes called Little People or the people from under the hill, was silent. Laura was equally silent, had been since Carson had lifted her onto the boat and insisted she go, promised John he’d stay.

Rodney heard the sound, but between the utter blackness of the tunnel - how could Ronon see to steer? - and the closeness of the tunnel walls, sound traveled oddly, was amplified and muted in strange ways, so he didn’t recognize it.

He felt the air change from close and damp to open and damp, and he recognized the sound for an instant before icy water poured over him.

They were sailing behind a waterfall.

Jeannie and Laura yelped and spluttered indignantly behind him, shocked out of their stupor. Rodey scrubbed the water out of his face, dared to open his eyes. Ronon was beautiful, hair slicked out of his face, body covered in glittering water droplets.

John was even more beautiful, his golden skin glowing, his hair still wild.

And then Rodney realized - John’s skin was glowing. It wasn’t dark anymore. He could see properly. Why? There were torches hung in sconces on the walls, torches that flickered with eerie blue flames.

Ronon guided the boat toward a stony bank, hopped out. John tossed him a rope, and Ronon knotted it through a metal ring in the wall. He and John had done this before. John hopped out of the boat, offered Jeannie a hand up. She accepted, and John offered Rodney his hand.

Laura climbed out herself. All three of them were wet through. Both girls were shivering.

“Come on,” John said, “we don’t have a lot of -”

That heart-attack tick-tock boomed through the cave.

“Time,” Ronon said grimly. He led them up the bank and down the other side of the stone ridge.

To a pool. A perfectly circular pool that gleamed like a mirror, the surface as still and smooth as glass. Familiar symbols were carved into the stone surrounding the pool, symbols just like the ones on the mirror frame back on Earth.

“What do we do?” Rodney asked.

“Go through the mirror,” John said.

That ticking and tocking sped up.

Rodney didn’t hesitate, pushed Jeannie and Laura into the pool before they could protest.

They hit the surface - and vanished. Not a ripple or a splash or any sign that they’d entered the water. They were just - gone.

“Good. They made it through,” John said.

“Your turn,” Ronon said to Rodney.

He nodded, took deep breath, and went to step into the water.

Only the ticking stopped. Rodney froze.

“What does that mean? Am I out of time?”

“Not till the clock strikes,” Ronon said.

“When will it strike?” Rodney asked.

Ronon shrugged. “Who knows. You going or what?”

Rodney turned to John. “Why did you pick us? Pick me and my sister and my friend?”

“Because,” John said, “I knew you would succeed where others had failed.”

“How many others were there?”

“Too many.”

“What now?” Rodney asked. “Will I ever see you again?”

Ronon said, “I’m out.” He turned and vanished back over the ridge toward his boat.

“The Morgana and The Merlin will go to war a final time,” John said. 

“You’re one of her knights. Will you be in that war?” 

John nodded.

“But you’re just a boy. Like me.” Even though Rodney, just a boy, had solved magical riddles, crossed an invisible bridge, stood firm against the riders in the Wild Hunt.

“Not just a boy. I’ve been here too long for that.” John pressed a hand to the ribbon at his throat.

Rodney reached out, touched it, felt its softness. He traced along the length of it, found the bow at the back of John’s neck, loosed it.

The ribbon fell into Rodney’s waiting hand. 

John reached for it, a protest on his lips.

Rodney silenced him with a kiss.

*

Mom and Dad were fighting again. Not a surprise. They’d been screaming at each other when Rodney got home. They screamed at him some when he trailed water across the floor. They screamed at Jeannie when she got home even later, because she’d missed dinner (a frosty affair where the food tasted horrible and no one looked at or talked to each other). Jeannie had screamed back (Rodney hadn’t had the energy tonight but he wasn’t above it) and then she’d stormed into her room and slammed the door.

Rodney had also retreated to his room, working on the newest song for his music journal. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, woke long enough to brush his teeth and haul himself into bed.

When he woke to the sound of stomping and slamming doors and more raised voices, it was still dark outside. How did his parents still have energy to keep on fighting? Chances were they’d forgotten what they’d started fighting over in the first place, were airing grievances from before Rodney was born.

Rodney lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, at the light playing across it from the small gap in his curtains. Why had they bothered to get married in the first place if they made each other so miserable? How could they have possibly thought that the burden of children would somehow improve their miserable relationship? They couldn’t have predicted that both of their children would be far more brilliant than them. The moment a child realized he was more intelligent than his own parents was hardly memorable. Rodney wasn’t sure when he’d figured out he was smarter than them. He suspected that deep down he’d always known he was.

As a child he’d imagined that he belonged somewhere else, maybe to other parents, smart ones who understood the world as quickly as he did, who were curious about the parts no one could see, the parts that made everything tick.

Blue light flared across the ceiling and Rodney turned his head, watched the dawn begin.

He knew that shade of blue.

*

The woman in the cage was pretty. Ordinary, though. Like Evan and Carson, she had dark hair, neat even features. Was she their mother? Only Evan and Carson weren’t even the same species of faery, Evan a Changeling Tithe and Carson something else, something both brighter and sharper and more sinister.

(The glimmer of scales on Laura’s cheek kept catching Rodney’s attention out of the corner of his eye, distracting him from -)

“Elizabeth,” John said.

“I thought she was Morgana,” Jeannie said.

“She is The Morgana,” Carson said quietly, “like every sorceress who came before her, but her name is Elizabeth.”

Evan stood in the doorway of the silver filigree prison cell. “Elizabeth, open your eyes.”

They were blue.

And then there came that voice again.

“Yes, far too easy.”

The cage trembled and heaved - and fell.

Plummeted downward into The Expanse, the chasm, the abyss.

Shot through the darkness - and landed in a garden. A garden made of glass, everything translucent, solid, and unmoving. Flower petals and leaves unfurled toward a silver filigree moon, and everything seemed to glow from within, but it was lifeless.

Like the hawthorn tree in the center of a clearing surrounded by a minefield of giant venus fly traps in all shapes and colors.

“Elizabeth?” Carson asked anxiously.

She inhaled sharply, stepped forward, staggered.

Teyla caught her, helped her upright. “Elizabeth, it is us. You are free.”

Elizabeth’s blue eyes went wide.

There was a loud, cracking sound, like the Earth splitting - or like a hawthorn tree  _ opening up _ and revealing another person.

A man.

Elizabeth said, “Go.”

John protested.

Elizabeth cupped her hands, and blue energy build between them. “This time,” she said, “The Merlin is mine.”

The Merlin was beautiful and terrible. He opened his eyes, and they were golden, ancient, like a crocodile’s. He stepped out of the tree, and he had frost-white hair, wore black leather armor. The tattoo on his face was stark black.

When he smiled, his teeth were razor sharp.

“How fortunate,” he said, “that when you freed her you freed me also. Thank you, young John, and Evan, and Carson.” 

He lunged.

Elizabeth shouted, “Go!”

John grabbed Rodney’s wrist and ran.

*

They never talked about what happened the night of the solstice. Rodney, Jeannie, and Laura went about their days as if everything was normal. Laura danced. Rodney made music. Jeannie unraveled the world in numbers and constants. Sometimes Laura asked Rodney to play for her while she danced, or Rodney asked Jeannie to analyze the numerical patterns in a song, or Jeannie asked Laura to teach her how to put on lipstick.

Rodney and Jeannie pretended not to notice when Laura would lift a hand to her face, the gesture fleeting. Laura helped Jeannie track down a family who’d used to live in town but who’d moved away after their son, a boy named Evan, had disappeared; neither she nor Rodney asked questions about what Jeannie did with that information. Jeannie and Laura said nothing when Rodney borrowed endless books from the library about foxes, about myths and legends of the Wild Hunt, Merlin and Morgana, Atlantis, and the summer solstice.

They were supposed to avoid the old house next to Grandma McKay’s, and all three of them had received a sound scolding and a firm grounding after they’d stayed out all night poking around the house.

“Put this place out of your heads,” Dad said.

“Never speak of this again,” Mom said.

All three of them had nodded dutifully and obeyed. But they didn’t need to speak of what happened, because it was always there, underneath their skin, around every corner, waiting for them.

Jeannie was determined to move on. So was Laura.

Rodney was counting down the days till the winter solstice.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Elizabeth Coleridge poem.
> 
> All of the thanks in the world to Brumeier and SherlockianSyndromes for their help with this story. Couldn't have finished it without you.


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